


Something Different Altogether

by Rohirrim_Writer



Series: Rugby AU [2]
Category: Frozen (Disney Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Rugby, Background Honeymaren/Elsa, Depression, Explicit Language, Explicit Sexual Content, F/F, F/M, Human Sven, Mentions of Suicide Ideation, Rugby Player Kristoff, Themes of Mental Health
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-04-08
Updated: 2020-04-20
Packaged: 2021-03-01 17:54:00
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 7,184
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23551120
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rohirrim_Writer/pseuds/Rohirrim_Writer
Summary: Anna Delle walks into a bar. Anna Delle is trying to pull. Anna Dell doesn't pick up what she had intended. Anna Delle ends up with something different altogether.
Relationships: Anna/Kristoff (Disney), Elsa/Honeymaren (Disney), Minor or Background Relationship(s)
Series: Rugby AU [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1704853
Comments: 16
Kudos: 46





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [ahtohallan_calling](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ahtohallan_calling/gifts).



> This story was inspired by Liv, and so it's a gift to her. It was meant to be about a silly tumblr post about Rugby asses. The prompt went, "'What do rugby players need all that ass for?' followed by, 'When the God's send you a blessing, you don't ask why it was sent.'"  
> And so the Rugby AU was born.  
> As you may have seen, this story will deal with themes of mental health. It will follow Anna as she struggles through depression, inspired by her struggle in Frozen 2. It will have a happy beginning, a happy middle, and a happy end. I want to make that clear. It will deal in part with her learning and growing and accepting help. It will be emotional in some parts, if I'm doing my job, but it isn't meant to bring anyone, myself included, down.  
> I hope you enjoy the first installment. I owe a big thank you to the discord. Without whom I never could have written such filth.

Anna wants to get laid. She’s on the flip side of a two year long relationship, wondering how she’d been stupid enough to waste so much of her life on a man whose lips had never once come near her cunt. 

So she has decided to get laid. No, not laid. Wrecked.  _ Laid out _ . She wants a man to eat her pussy like he's a dying man drinking from a well after being lost in the desert. Like she is the goddamn water of  _ life _ . 

So when she gets to the bar, on a Saturday night, she goes straight for the counter. She orders a Vodka tonic on the rocks and sips it contemplatively through the tiny straw while she surveys the room. 

She has been hyping herself up for this for weeks, only to end up in front of the TV watching reruns of Parks and Rec in tight black pants with the button undone and heels in a pile by the couch. Tonight felt like her last chance. 

She’s dressed up now, in a dress she knows wraps her hips and ass up like a present. And when she lounges on the bar stool, she makes certain to cross her legs just so, to show those off too. 

There’s a lot to work with. The ratio of men to women is skewed heavily in her favor. She’s already scoped out some promising candidates when one of the bartenders comes over to her. 

“If you tell me what you're looking for, I might be able to help you out.” She’s a tall woman, with a long, dark braid that curves over her shoulder and down her chest. She’s got a backwards snapback on her head and the sleeves of her plaid shirt are rolled up to the elbows. 

“I’m not really sure we-uh-have the same type.” She’s blushing, she can feel the tell tale heat in her cheeks. How she is supposed to proposition a man for sex, when she can’t even talk to the bartender, she isn’t sure. 

The girl’s eyebrows go up to the snaps of her cap and she leans forward onto the counter on her forearms. 

“Try me.” It sounds like a dare. Anna takes a large drink of her vodka tonic, forgoing the straw. 

Takes a deep breath in, a deep breath out. 

“I’m looking for somebody who can eat pussy.”They lock eyes as she says it. She keeps her shoulders back, defiant. 

“Oh honey, I think we have exactly the same type.” She grins slow and big. “The name’s Maren.” She holds out her hand and Anna takes it across the bar. She has a firm handshake, one that Anna is sure intimidates most people. It intimidates her a little. 

“Anna.” 

“So what exactly are you looking for?” She turns to the room now, eyes scanning deliberately as she talks. ”I need details.” _ Here goes nothing. _

“You know when guys eat hamburgers in like commercials or something? Like they’ve come back from working on a car or-I don’t know-putting up a roof or something, to eat at some local, grease bucket dinner and they're like really  _ eating _ with ketchup and juices running down their chin and groaning and it's kinda gross, but like also not? I want to get eaten out like  _ that. _ ” She’s rambling, she knows, but she only has so much bravery to get it all out, so she uses her ten seconds of courage well. She looks up from where she’s been watching the condensation pool at the bottom of her glass. Maren is staring at her with wide eyes. She’s definitely said too much. 

“I meant something more along the lines of, ‘I like blue eyes’ or ‘He’s gotta have a nice ass’ but okay.” She should definitely just leave now, preserve what little dignity she has left, and try again another day at a  _ different _ bar. 

“You sure you’re not gay?” Maren gives her a little side eye, but she’s smiling, Anna can see it tugging at the corner of her mouth. She lets herself relax a little. 

“Yes.” She takes another fortifying drink. “My sister is though.” This seems to peak Maren’s interest. 

“We’ll circle back to that later.” She moves to pick up an empty glass from nearby and uses it to point at Anna. “So you want a last meal on death row, Thanksgiving dinner, the-world-might-end-tomorrow-so-hold-me-tonight kind of man?” Mustering the last of her courage Anna presses forward. 

_ “ _ I want...someone eating an ice cream cone in July and trying desperately to keep it from dripping down their arm-sweet melt-y cream all over their face....kind of man.” Her voice trails off at the end like a car sputtering to a stop, but it’s all out there. 

Maren’s not looking at her like she’s crazy-or filthy-even though she  _ is. _ She’s smiling that Cheshire cat grin again and sliding another drink her way. 

“Have I got the man for you.” 


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We're coming to the part of our stories where our lovers meet. Are you at the edge of your seat? Just dying to know how it ends? How about this, and they all lived happily ever after? Well, at least they do in the end.   
> Gold Star to anyone who recognizes where that quote is from.

Anna takes a long swallow of her new drink before turning to see where Maren is pointing. She follows her finger, tracing the invisible line into the crowd of men. 

“Him?” She’s a bit incredulous, to say the least. She can hear the doubt in her own voice, but she feels justified. He’s got brown hair and thick eyebrows and his most prominent feature is his chin. His very large chin. He’s also pretty scrawny looking. He certainly doesn’t look like he can hold her hips down and bruise her ass cheeks. 

“Are you sure?” He’s not her type, but if Maren thinks that he can dish it, Anna will take it. 

“What?  _ Yes.”  _ Maren’s looking at her like she was born yesterday. When it comes to this she might as well have been. “We looking at the same guy? Big? Blonde? With the shoulders?” 

_ Big? Blonde? With the _ -she sees him now. He’s a little to the left, half blocked by a man almost equally as large, but he’s just a little taller, a little broader, a little wider. He’s holding a bottle of beer out, like he’d started to use his hands to describe a story and forgotten he’s holding it. His hands are big.  _ Really  _ big. 

The other man says something and he’s smiling now. It shows off rows of perfect teeth. It makes his whole countenance look sunnier. His hair looks a little bit more golden. He’s wearing a Henley with the sleeves rolled up, and the same soft golden hair glints off his forearms and peaks out on his chest where he’s left the collar unbuttoned. 

Sure he is... _ handsome,  _ but so are many of the other guys in the room. Just a few feet away there’s a man built similarly. He’s got dark hair and a full, well-groomed beard that suits her needs  _ very  _ well. She isn’t  _ convinced _ he’s the best man for the job.

“You really think he’s the best option? I mean, what about that guy?” Maren barely spares him a glance before shaking her head resolutely. She’s drying a glass with the towel she keeps slung over her shoulder, working while she talks. She seems to have made up her mind. 

“Nope. This guy’s your man. I’m sure of it.” So Anna is too. She moves forward with a single-minded purpose. Life-altering sex. 

She downs the rest of her drink and pushes her card across the counter to Maren to close her tab. To her credit she doesn’t even bat an eye, just slides her card and receipt back across the bar and heads off to help another customer. 

Anna’s already losing her nerve, she can feel it. So she takes a deep breath, puffs out her chest, and makes her way toward the blonde-haired man. He doesn’t really notice her until she’s almost on them. He’s wrapped up in whatever story his buddy is telling, but his eyes flick to her as she gets closer, and linger when it’s obvious she’s headed for them. 

Whoever the man is speaking, he’s got his back to her and doesn’t see her approach. He keeps talking even as Anna is trying to introduce herself. 

The blonde is even bigger up close. He’s got to be over six feet and Anna’s only 5’4” herself. She has to kind of crane her neck to look at him. She wonders if she’ll have to stand on a chair if she wants to kiss him.

She needs to introduce herself first. Only, he’s looking at her with one eyebrow raised and a little smirk on his lips and- _ God _ -she can’t do this. She’s about to make a fool of herself. 

“Hello, it sure is packed tonight! What are you all here for?

“We’re a rugby league.” He looks her up and down in an appraising way she’s not sure she likes. “My friend Sven was telling a story.” 

He turns back to his friend then, who’s looking between them uneasily as if he’s not sure what to do. The blonde encourages him with a tilt of his chin, a masculine gesture men seem to do instead of pointing. 

Sven cautiously starts up his story again. He’s not quite as animated as before. Anna’s determined now. She’s got to at least try, besides if this guy turns out to be a total asshole at least she knows she’s not in danger of falling in love with him or waiting for him to propose or anything. 

She’s made that mistake before. 

She presses on. 

“That explains why you’re all so big! I was beginning to wonder why everyone here looked like they could bench press a car.” 

Sven stops his story to take a long swig of his beer, Adam's apple bobbing. He doesn’t seem to put it down until it’s empty. 

His friend however is openly sighing and setting his down. 

“Look, I’m sure you're nice, but I’m just trying to have a drink with my buddies.” Anna knows a brush off when she hears it. She should take the hint really. This guy’s pricklier than a cactus. 

She can’t resist dangling the carrot one more time though.

“Oh, okay. I was just trying to find a guy to go home with, but if your not interested.” She flips her hair over her shoulder angling her body to leave. The new position shows off her bare shoulder, exposed in her halter top as it is. She can see his eyes linger there before he turns back to the table, scowling. His entire face tightens with it. 

“I don’t take people places.” 

She’d thought maybe this was just a game of cat and mouse. Looking around, at the uncomfortable looking large red-headed man with impressive sideburns, and the tall, curly haired Sven, she could see now that she’d been wrong. This is her very public, very humiliating dismissal. 

“It’s just-” She still can’t stop herself from trying, one more time. “Maren said-”

“ _ Maren  _ sent you over here?” She has to turn around to see him when he speaks, she’d already start walking away. 

He looks embarrassed. Then confused, like he’s trying to puzzle something together. He looks her back over again, but his appraisal is softer this time, more considering and more  _ considerate _ . 

She really shouldn’t go home with this guy now. Even if he does come around. She’s just met him after all. She doesn’t even know his name, or his favorite food, or his  _ foot size _ . 

She can’t bear the thought of going home alone though. She doesn’t want to spend another night in her empty apartment watching the shadows lengthen and shorten on the walls. 

“Yes...” She stands there, like an idiot, unsure of what to do with herself. 

“Oh.” She waits for him to say more, but he doesn’t. They’re all standing around the stilted table, fiddling with whatever’s nearby, unable to escape the awkward strain in the air. 

“Can I get your phone number?” To say Anna is stunned is an understatement. After everything she’s just gone through, the  _ asshole  _ he’s just been, if he thinks-

“You can take me home. Now.” She sets her shoulders back. She knows she’s going to regret this later when she needs to draw on her well of courage and it’s all gone because she’s used it all tonight. 

She’s not breathing. It’s making her a little light headed, but she can’t bring herself to let the breath out her lungs. Not when i’s the only thing supporting her right now. 

He looks impressed? Maybe?

“I’ll meet you outside.” She slaps her hand on the table for emphasis. It was supposed to be a signal to hurry up, but instead it knocks an empty beer bottle into his chest, which he fumbled to catch. 

“Oops! Sorry.” She recovers herself quickly, keeps her chin pointed high, despite how embarrassed she feels. “I’ll be outside.” 

She sneaks around a bewildered Sven and makes her way out the door into the chilly, autumn night. When she’s finally alone, leaning back on the brick facade of the building, she lets out a sign. 

She’s done it. Now all there is to do is wait. 

It’s a few moments later when the door to the bar opens, but it’s just an older man, greying at the temples. She watches him get into a cab and misses the door opening and shutting again beside her. 

“You know I didn’t get your name back there.” Her spine goes ramrod straight at the sound of his voice, like she’d had to keep it during the mannerisms lessons her parents made her take as a child. 

“It’s Anna. Anna Rendelle.” She fights the urge to tap the sidewalk with the tip of her shoe, a nervous habit that always ruined her nice shoes. 

“Kristoff Bjorgman.” He holds his impossible large hand out between them. She stares at it for a moment before she realizes he’s waiting for her to  _ take  _ it. He gives it a firm shake before he releases her and it sends a warm thrill of anticipation through her. 

“I’ve had most of a beer, so if you want me to get a taxi, or like a lyft or something, we can.” She thinks it over. He’s a big guy. Like a really, big guy. She knows he’s fine. He probably knows he’s fine, but it puts her mind at ease that he’d ask. She wonders what else he’ll ask. Wonders what it would sound like to have him above her, in her, asking, “ _ You like that baby?”  _

“No, you can drive.” Her voice comes out a tad bit squeaky. She clears her throat. And her thoughts. 

“Well…” He rocks back on his heels, hand shoved into the back pocket of his jeans. “I’m-uh-over there.” He points with his chin in the direction of a large white pick-up. It makes Anna smile and she keeps the eyeroll to herself. 

“Aye, aye captain.” Kristoff almost smiles then, while he looks at her out of the corner of his eye as they walk. She wants him to. He’d looked radiant when he’d smiled. She doubted she would see it again. It’s not like men smiled in bed, at least Hans never did. She would have to live with the sting of never knowing the brilliance of his smile again. 

He opens the door for her. It’s sweet, but she’s still not convinced he’s not actually a total asshole. 

They’re both quiet as he gets in the driver’s side and puts the keys in the ignition. He drives with one hand on the wheel and one arm resting against the door, hand hanging out the window to ride the breeze. 

It makes Anna shiver, but she can’t bring herself to ask him to roll it up. The wind ruffles his hair in a delicious way. She doesn’t even have him in bed yet and he’s already rumpled. She doesn't even have him in bed yet and he’s ruined her. 

“What is-” He briefly takes his hand off the wheel to gesture back and forth between them, “this.” His eyes remain on the road the whole time. 

“This,” she twists toward him, “is you taking me home.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> They're on their way to Kristoff's house! Anna's gonna get the *good good*.   
> I took a very literal approach to drawing parallels to Kristoff and Anna's first meeting in the first movie.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ready for some pride and prejudice level hand flexing? This weeks update brought to you late by: the flock of birds in my backyard I have adopted, the cat I recently acquired, forgetting the word ‘fragile’ and taking 20 minutes to find the word for ‘breaks easy’, and pouring over whether Kristoff should say ‘Do you want to grab the light’ or ‘can you get the light’ for an inordinate amount of time.

It’s late by the time they pull into Kristoff’s apartment complex. Despite the fact that the roads are mostly empty and they hit green lights almost the entire way. It’d been late when they left the bar, late when she’d got there, and it’s later now. It’s a jarring reminder of what this all actually is. A rendezvous in the dark, naked bodies hidden from the light of day.

She can feel it now, the anxious build of nerves that she’s grown accustomed to. Like a neighbor moving in on her street the sadness had crept into her life. It left little things behind everytime it visited till she was littered with them. She feels like a field next to a walmart, strewn with paper cups and plastic bags. She thinks she might do anything to keep it at bay. 

That isn’t what this is. Not completely. There’s something more at play here, something visceral. It pushes her onward when they get to the apartment complex and park his truck. It nudges her along as they make their way up the stairs. 

She loses her balance a few times She’s not sure if it’s her usual clumsiness or the vodka, but she’s thanking whichever it is when Kristoff’s hand comes out to steady her each time. She’s already showing a lot of skin and she’s imagining what his touch would feel like over every inch of it. How his hands, laborer’s hands, rough and hewn with callouses, would feel against the fine hair of her thighs, or the soft skin of her belly. Or how the pads of his fingers would feel on and in the secret places in between. 

She’s on him as soon as he closes the door, sidling up to him in the entryway. He’s barely breathing when she brings her hand, so small up against his chest, to rest over his heart. She can feel it. She wonders what his heartbeat would be like if she could feel that too, if it’s beating as fast against his rib cage as hers. 

He brought one wonderful hand up to rest against hers, cradling her fingers. She wondered how a hand that could swallow up her own could look so like a flower. It’s intoxicating, how the gentleness of his touch differs from the power he exudes. She feels like Thumbelina. 

Slowly, he slides her hand down.  _ This is it _ . She’s alight with anticipation. Can taste it on her tongue. Only, he brings their joined hands down to their sides. They’re standing, holding hands in the front door of his apartment. It feels warm. Almost intimate. Almost like a promise. She feels it like an itch she can’t quite scratch. A butterfly that’s landed on her shoulder that she wants to shake off. 

It’s been a long time since Anna has been able to look at beautiful things. She wonders if they will be beautiful next to one another. She wants to find out. 

“Where’s your bedroom.” It comes out a whisper, though she hadn’t intended it to be. It feels wrong, to disrupt the stillness surrounding them in it’s fragile embrace. 

“Oh.” His thumb stops the path it had been tracing along the back of her hand. There’s something in the way that he says it that she knows she should understand, but doesn’t. She briefly wonders if he’s going to ask what she does for a living. What her hobbies are. Maybe what she’s currently watching on Netflix. She's dreading the possibility of small talk.  _ How are you? Fine. How are you? Good.  _ She’s wondering how badly she misjudged this situation. She feels a monumental relief when he speaks.

“It’s through there.” The light above the stove is on, and there’s a gentle glow from the electronics in the living area to their left. It’s enough light to see the open door at the end of the hall, which she can’t see beyond. Anything feels possible in the darkness.

“You don’t want a glass of water or anything?” He pulls her attention back to him. To the way his eyes are searching in the low light. She feels like a river, trapped behind a dam, near bursting. 

“No, let’s just go to your bedroom.” He’s fiddling with his keys in one hand, he still hasn’t put them down. She hadn’t given him a chance really. The other still holds her hand. His has gone sweaty and some part of her thinks she should let go, but she waits, not wanting to let go first.

“Okay. You go ahead. I’m just going to get a glass of water first.” She lets go first. She feels off afterwards, like turning the heater above the sixties in the winter or sleeping in on the weekends. It’s a luxury she couldn’t let herself get used to, not when she still had to wake up at six again come Monday. She can’t afford to indulge in the taste of his tenderness, not when she’ll have to relearn how to live without it in the morning. 

The room is bathed in the yellow glow that filters through the vertical blinds. There’s a dresser and a side table and an overflowing hamper of clothing. The bed isn’t made, but that doesn’t matter. None of it matters. 

She takes her shoes off, hoping she can shed her turmoil with it. She’s impatiently working at the zipper of her dress when Kristoff walks in. He’s standing in the doorway, a full glass of water in his hand while he watches, eyes lingering on the way her breasts come into view. The straps of her dress fall, unsupported, down her shoulders. She can see the way his Adam's apple moves as he swallows. 

She wants him to look at her. To want her. Needs it until it’s a physical ache.

“I-uh-Is it okay if we just sleep?” His voice breaks when he first tries to speak and he has to clear his throat to continue. It’s strange, how something so casual and considerate could shatter the finely woven fantasy that had encircled them since they’d stood outside the bar, but it does. 

She feels out of place and clumsy again, but on the inside. Only he can’t hold her there. So she presses on, unsteady. 

“Ya. Of course.” She tries her best to appear unaffected. She smiles, tries to ignore the way she’s standing half-dressed and half-humiliated, unsure of herself and what to do next.

“Oh, good.” He sounds relieved. He flicks the bedroom light on as he walks to his nightstand, setting down the glass of water before opening up the closet door and disappearing briefly inside. He comes out empty handed but without any shoes. She can’t help but stare at his bare feet as he pads over to the dresser. He starts rummaging through the drawers, but by the looks of it, most of his clothes are in the pile in and around his laundry basket. 

Anna holds her dress from falling the rest of the way down her body while he does. She can vaguely feel tears prickling at her eyes, but it feels far away. Like the memory of tears and she thinks she can keep them from falling. 

“I hope these will work. It’s kind of slim pickings around here.” She almost loses her grip on her dress and she has to scramble to preserve what little modesty she has left when he startles her from memorizing the shape of a deer in the plaster finish of his walls. He’s holding out a t-shirt and what looks to be a very large pair of sweatpants. 

“There’s a deer on your wall over there.” She blurts it out before she knows what she’s saying. He turns to follow her gaze, but he’s smiling like he already knows what he’s going to find. 

“Oh ya, that’s Sven. He’s a reindeer.” She can tell there’s a story there. She knows it’s going to be one of those stories with a punchline, but her eyes are still stinging and she’s a little bit cold and she doesn’t think she can even remember how to laugh right now. 

“You named it after your friend from the bar?” She bites anyway. She needs a distraction and  _ maybe _ she’s just a little bit intrigued. 

“I named my friend after the reindeer actually.” She smiles despite herself. She can vaguely see the resemblance. When she turns back to him he’s smiling back, honest and open, and she wonders how this is the same man from the bar.  _ I don’t take people places.  _ Perhaps that’s true. After all, he’s not taking her  _ anywhere.  _ She takes the clothes so she doesn’t have to think about it anymore. 

“Bathrooms the door on the left.” She practically runs there. Once the door is closed and locked behind her she finally lets go of the bodice of her dress. She doesn’t have to take off a bra, so it’s a simple enough process slipping the cotton shirt on. It’s soft against her skin and has more fabric than the outfit she came in. Which is good, because the sweatpants he gave her are about a foot too long and even with the drawstring, are comically big. She feels like the beginning of Mr. Roger’s Neighborhood gone wrong. Sweater too large and clown shoes. She forgoes the sweats. 

She takes a minute to stand in front of the mirror. She dabs her face with a little cool water, but she doesn’t want to ruin her makeup, so she doesn’t scrub it like she wants too. She wants to rub away at the water on her eyelashes, but she dabs it delicately with the towel hanging on the back of the door instead. 

She thinks about going outside but can’t resist the siren's call of snooping first. There isn’t much to see. The medicine cabinet has a tube of toothpaste, brush, and floss inside. She sticks a dab of toothpaste on her finger, spearmint, and scrubs it around her mouth quickly before rinsing. 

There’s a comb on the second shelf, a stick of deodorant, and a small bottle of cologne. She takes it off the shelf to smell it. It’s a little sharp in a way that lingers in the back of her throat. It’s spicy and clean and just a little bit woodsy. She turns the bottle in her hands so she can see the label.  _ Usher.  _ It makes her smile. 

It was probably a gift. Though, she can see him going to the department store counter and having to get the help of the sales associate because he wants to pick out something  _ nice _ and _ invest _ in it. She hasn’t smelled it on him. She wonders if he ever wore it. She places it carefully back in the cabinet how she found it and closes the door. 

It softens him further, in her mind, to imagine it. It’s what she needs to open the door. He’s already in the bed, waiting for her. His large bed is dwarfed by his rather massive frame. It looks inviting. 

“Can you get the light?” He’s left the side of the bed closest to the door open for her. It’s the only side with a nightstand, one that’s littered with books and chords, the glass of water and a rather intriguing pair of what looks to be reading glasses. There’s a dip in the mattress here, as though someone has laid in the same spot night after night. 

She plunges them into near darkness and does her best not to leap onto the bed. It’s hard to leave behind her ritual of turning off the light and executing a running vault into bed. She doubts there are any monsters hiding under this man’s bed.  _ They’d _ probably be scared of  _ him _ . 

She pulls back the sheets to slip beneath. She feels like a baby bird. She’s nestled in, surrounded by warmth. He’s not touching her, but she can feel him all the same, ruffling her feathers. 

“Did the pants not work?” His voice is loud in the quiet space, when they’re only inches apart. 

“They were too big...I can put them on if you want.” She’s already poised to get out of bed and get them.

“Whatever is comfortable.” It’s easy for him, at least that’s how it looks to her. She can’t imagine he’s wracked with the same uncertainty that she’s feeling. 

“I’m comfortable.” It’s not a lie, but it doesn’t entirely feel like the truth. It feels like something desperately out of reach, but she’s grasping for it nevertheless.

How long will she have to lay here before sleep comes? Will she still be awake, after he finds repose, watching his chest rise and fall? Left alone yet again to the things that come out in the dark? Will he snore? Will she snore? God, she should have thought about this before she agreed to stay. She hadn’t considered this part-what it might be like to fall asleep in a strange man’s bed-what it might be like to wake up there in the morning. 

She thinks of the face that greets her in the bathroom mirror in the mornings. She isn’t sure she wants anyone to see that, one-night-stand or not. Now, she’s going to have to do so and she’s not even getting  _ sex  _ out of it-

The rustling of sheets is an ice cold bucket of water on her head. He’s moved closer, across the space, the whole mattress bowing under his weight. 

“Is this-can I?” She doesn’t breathe, trying to anticipate what he’s trying to say. 

He doesn’t move. 

“Can I hold you?’ She doesn’t know if the feeling in her chest is because she hasn’t taken a breath, but she doesn’t know how to breath around the boulder that’s lodged itself there, somewhere between her throat and her lungs. 

“Yes.” Minutes have gone by before she’s able to say it, feeble and failing. 

He doesn’t hesitate. He moves with the confidence she lacks. His hand slides along the thin material over her waist, palm spanning across her ribs and down to her belly button. His front moves flush with her back, warm and firm. One large thigh comes to nudge it’s way between her own. The hair of his legs tickles her skin and she finally responds as a shiver slithers up her spine, pulling air into her hungry lungs. It drives her ever further into his arms. 

His warm breath puffs along the back of her neck. Her eyelashes flutter closed against the subtle caress without her permission. It’s easier, with her eyes closed, to let herself appreciate this. In fact, she savors it. She relishes in the quiet revelry of his embrace. 

“Don’t let go.” She can’t believe the words come out of her mouth. With her eyes closed she can almost pretend they haven’t. 

She buries her face further into his pillow, into the faint smell of warm skin. She’s suspended, in this place so far from the rest of the world. 

“I won’t.” He rumbles. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Spoiler: It was Sven. Sven bought him the cologne.   
> In all seriousness, this chapter had a lot of implication to capture, it’s a complex scene and it was difficult to write, but well worth taking the time to see it through and do it right.   
> To paraphrase what seethedawn once said in an author’s note, anna was going to do and say some things that are not okay, that aren’t healthy, because she isn’t in a place where she can make wise and discerning choices. The same applies here. Anna shouldn’t have lied to kristoff. She should be communicating, but she’s not. She’s not even giving a great deal of thought to what she’s feeling or communicating with herself. She is very feelings driven at a time when all of her feelings feel incredibly loud and extremely close. So much so that she often mistakes one feeling for another. I’m going to try my best to do this story justice.


	4. Chapter 4

Anna wakes slowly to the flicker of light against her eyelids. She opens them to watch the mesmerizing display for a long moment. The muted morning light streams through the slats of the blinds and as the tower fan rotates it sends them clinking against one another. It reminds her of the keys on a piano, white and black, white and black, white and black. She wonders what it would sound like, if someone were to transcribe the song they made. 

Her own body is rocked by the steady breathes of the body beneath her. She can finally hear his heartbeat. It’s steady and rhythmic beneath her ear. She stays a while, on that rolling sea, as if for a moment, the rest of the world were still far away. 

She briefly thinks of staying, dares to imagine a world where this is her morning-every morning. That some of the clothes in the corner are her clothes. That her toiletries clutter the bathroom counter. That the glass of water on the nightstand is her own. 

Still, she knows her apartment is somewhere across town. It sits empty and dark, as it always is. Her dirty clothes are there. Her toothbrush next to the faucet. Her dirty dishes in the sink. It’s the home she should get back to. 

She lifted her head just enough to peak at the sleeping man she’d come to rest against in the dark. Even with the tension gone from his face, she can see faint lines around the corner of his eyes. He’s got freckles on his nose and down his chin. She debates tracing them, surely the pad of her delicate finger wouldn’t disturb him? 

She thinks the better of it. She only needed to ensure he was sleeping so she could slip out and pretend she was never here. She does so quietly, slowly slipping out from under his arm and sheets. She left her dress in the bathroom. She’ll start there. 

She recognizes the woman who greets her in the mirror, mascara smeared in dark rings under her eyes. Her hair exploded into a battleground overnight and the comb on the sink would likely be lost in no man’s land if she attempted to wrangle it. Besides, she feels the ticking of the clock intuitively, aware she is running out of time. She doesn’t want to wake the beast. 

She lifts the sleep warm shirt over her head to stand naked, in the foriegn bathroom, in her foreign skin. Zipping up her dress feels a bit like putting on armor. Chain mail in place, she sets out to recover her shoes. 

She thinks she remembers leaving them by the dresser? She’s stumbling around in the half-light when he speaks. 

“You’re leaving?” His head lifts just high enough off his pillow to see her over the mass of his body. He’s sleep-rumpled and disoriented. He looks delicious. The temptation to crawl back into the cocoon of blankets is strong. She wavers in answering, remembering the feel of him. 

“Ya.” It hangs in the air, uncomfortably, until she elaborates. “I really should get going.” It’s Sunday, she has nowhere to be, except anywhere but here. 

“Can I at least interest you in some breakfast?” He sits up fully, swinging his legs over the side of the mattress. Anna can feel the rising panic clawing at her throat. She doesn’t know if she desperately wants that or absolutely doesn’t. She feels like her head is buzzing and she really should have drank more water last night and she can’t quite figure out why it  _ hurts _ . 

“Maybe just some coffee?” She compromises. 

“I can do coffee.” He must have changed the night before while she was in the bathroom, because he’s wearing joggers and a plain shirt, like you buy in the pack of 12. He squeezes past her, making his way to the kitchen. The bed they’d slept so peacefully in the night before stares back at her accusingly. She knows the sheets would still be warm if she were to slip back between them. Instead she picks up her shoes and follows him into the kitchen. 

He’d flicked the lights on, leaving a breadcrumb trail of light behind him. Anna follows it to where he’s digging around in the cupboards. She doesn’t know what to say to him, how to fill the heavy silence that hangs between them. So she looks around instead, his apartment had a warmth to it that hers lacks. The couch is a warm chocolate leather, the TV remote has been left on one of the cushions. The entertainment center is filled with movies and the coffee table is stuffed to the gills with board games. She can see a welcoming path worn into the carpet, evidence of the heavy man making the same trek day after day. 

His keys and wallet rest on the counter where he’d left them the night before. She stands on the other side, feeling an awful lot like she’s standing at the counter at starbucks, waiting for her dirty chai with a double shot and one pump of vanilla. It feels wrong. Like she owes him $4.97. She tries to remember that it’s normal for people to do things like this for each other. She remembers when Elsa used to make her steaming cups of chamomile tea with honey, back before her floors weren’t sticky with her own attempts to recreate just a taste of the feeling of home she’d long since given up on. 

“So you’re in a rugby league?” She distracts herself from those thoughts, pulling free from the frigid water hidden beneath thin ice. “Is that like a city thing?” He looks up from the coffee machine, a simple thing, not like the french press that lay unused in the back of her cabinet. 

“Ya, it’s hosted by the city. There’s four teams.” He seems relieved to talk about something in his wheelhouse. Perhaps he wants to ignore the elephant in the room as much as she does. 

“Were all of them at the bar last night?” That would certainly explain the abundance of adequate prospects. How she’d ended up with the one that only wanted to hold her, tender and warm, like she was a dandelion handed to him by a child, something precious and delicate-

“And then some. We’re kicking off the season this weekend. Our first game is today.” He’s almost chuckling now. It certainly seems funny-the questionable kind-to her. 

“Doesn’t really make sense to start the first game of the year hungover.” He does chuckle then, head hanging a little. It’s an endearing sight. 

“That’s just the boys. They’ll all be there, rain or shine.” She imagines him now, running a ball through a throng of men, shoulders braced, in the rain and mud. 

“How long have you played?” She tries to hide the way she’s clearing her throat, practically choking on her own drool. 

“I got into it after high school. So maybe a couple of years? Sven played in high school, he dragged me into it.” She tries to remember a clear picture of the man in question from the bar, but her memory fails her. 

“Sounds like you guys are really close.” She offers.

“We’ve known each other since we were kids. He’s like a brother to me.” He takes her half-hearted attempt and runs with it, even asks her a question. “Do you have any siblings.”

“I have a sister.” She wishes he hadn’t. 

“I’ve got three of those. A handful, all of ‘em.” It’s a visual that brings a smile to her face. She wonders where he falls between them. If he’s the oldest, or the youngest, or right smack dab in the middle. 

“You’re a ladies’ man then?” She knows the answer already, it’s somewhere between emphatically  _ not  _ and maybe if he was a little less gruff… 

“Wouldn’t exactly call myself that no, but I’ve seen Pride and Prejudice enough times I think I could play the part if I needed too.” She can agree with that, could picture him at the Meryton Ball, walking in unsociable and taciturn. Could see him, coming out of a lake dripping wet, or in the rain buttons undone...

Anna’s starting to enjoy herself when the sound of the coffee maker chimes. The smile on his face drops a little at the reminder that their together is limited. She finds herself mourning the honest-goodness of his smile. 

He’s taking a jug of milk out of the fridge now, setting it next to the coffee maker as he grabs a jar of sugar off the counter. There’s several of them, matching containers with words stamped into the ceramics,  _ flour, sugar, oats, rice _ . She wonders if he cooks a lot. She can imagine it, funnily enough. He would be wearing an apron, covered in flour while he made loaves of bread, or elaborate cakes, or meat pies. 

As it is, he’s filling a travel thermos with coffee, turning to look at her as he does, slowing the pour to a trickle as he asks, “There?” 

“A little more.” Then he picks up the milk, holds it slightly aloft as if to ask if she’d like that too. She nods, her voice failing her as each act of kindness brings her ever closer to summoning a Lyft and making the walk of shame. 

He fills the cup the rest of the way, the caramel-y color swirling together to match the color of his eyes. She wonders if she’ll ever think of it in the future, their exact color and shade and quality, or if she’ll forget him like he’ll inevitably forget her. 

“Sugar?” 

“Three please.” He makes a face at this, but scoops three spoonfuls in nonetheless. She wonders how he takes his coffee, but doesn’t have to wonder about it for very long. He pulls a mug off the tree on the counter and fills it almost to the lip, topping it off with just a splash of milk. She tries to remind herself that it doesn’t mean anything, that she takes her coffee with sugar and he doesn’t. That not everybody who takes their coffee dark is the kind of person that leaves. 

He takes a sip from the mug as he turns to her and gives her a coffee thermos she now has to return. She stares at it for a moment. It’s got a logo on it for a regional hospital that she’s never heard of. 

“Oh, I don’t know how I’m going to return this to you.” She means to prompt him to give her a disposable cup, or perhaps an out to leave it there, untouched. 

“That’s okay. I got it from my Dad.” They stand, with more than the divide of the countertop between them. 

“You could-” He clears his throat and seems to change his mind about what he’s saying. “I have a match today. You could come and watch the game, drop it off then.” He takes another casual sip of his mug, but something about it is trying too hard. He’s looking at her a little too intensely, a little too expectant, but not quite meeting her eye all the same. 

She should say no. His mug has a paw print on it and reads ‘dogs are better than people’. She should definitely not go to his game. Because if she went to his game that would be a  _ date _ and that was decidedly  _ not  _ what Anna was trying to achieve. People with funny mugs, and three different versions of charades, and lego people keychains were  _ dating  _ people. Besides, if he didn’t put out on a hook-up, there’s no way he put out on the first date. 

So why she opens her mouth and says, “Sure” is beyond her. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Again, no beta, so if I can deal with the excruciating pain of rereading over my mistakes, so can you.   
> I hope you enjoyed your 2k of nothing. Welcome to the slow burn baby. Get comfortable on the coals. We'll be here a while.


End file.
